


My Dear My Dearest

by VelvetGoldmine1027



Category: Nirvana (Band), Rock Music RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetGoldmine1027/pseuds/VelvetGoldmine1027
Summary: There comes a time when you think of those days she lodged at your house. Days when you still lived in Seattle. It was thirty years ago.
Relationships: Kurt Cobain/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	My Dear My Dearest

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [我亲爱的我深爱的](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174002) by [VelvetGoldmine1027](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetGoldmine1027/pseuds/VelvetGoldmine1027). 



> ❗write Kurt in female form but not gender transition, just to emphasis his personality. He is still a male.  
> "You" refer to no one, not you, not me, not anybody, even the plot is meaningless. It's just using second person perspective to simulate a kind of…observation.  
> My native language is not English, I wrote this in Chinese and translated it by myself. If there's something strange I'm sorry.

There comes a time when you think of those days she lodged in your house. Days when you still lived in Seattle. It was thirty years ago, so you don't remember that specific moment you fell into a crush on her. Was that when she was sitting asleep by the street, wrapping herself in a large thick jacket, and the sun beam casting a blurred colour that melted her? Or when she burst out all the frustration, dismay and wrath, smashing the guitar as if she was going to smash herself, in a way which would became a symbol of her on the stage? And the crowd yelled feverishly, culminated at this rage, this sense of rebellion. You witnessed her crashing against the wall they built, and broke herself instead of the wall.

It's fine to forget. You've been starting to grow old. Your heart crusted pathetically since you were determined to love her then. But this small-town girl, was her the one whom used to make you felt so close, so intimate. She was like the daughter delivered by your own melancholy. Most of the time she was quiet and gentle. The way she smiled...a frown expressed through her eyes, in where which concealed a hesitation and an inescapable sincerity that almost impelled you to comb her hair. She said she didn't belong to any of defined circles, not men, nor not women. She talked about people she met in high school, those pale gray spinning faces, and how she walked away in boredom and guilt facing another humiliated female flesh. She also told of sleeping under a bridge in Aberdeen- not with a completed frame, but with some skipping points, just like her lyrics: fish with lucent veins, sap green Wishkah River. At her leisure between the shows, she just stayed in the room, doing things without need to speak: playing the guitar, writing a diary, drawing. Flat simple chords, scrawling and odd angry images. They sprawled curly vines and tentacles around her, intertwined in the moist air. When you stepped close she would stopped, then said: "I hoped you won't read it when I am alive."

For many times your hands passed through the mist of her blond hair, and as the soft kisses fell on her eyelids. Then she slowed down her breath. My daughter, my kid sister, my dear aching pinkie bones, the injured nail cap, the thin cut between my throat and my chest. I looked for your voice on my lips. Underwater I looked into your eyes. I love...... I love you until you become the time, or a drip of rain.


End file.
